The Red Room August Strindberg (best english novels to read txt) đ
- Author: August Strindberg
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âThatâs sarcasm, isnât it? What?â
âItâs unjust,â said Falk.
âI find it very impressive,â said the stout man. âYou canât deny that it is well written. Can you? He wields a pen which pierces shoe-leather.â
âNow, lads, stop talking and write; afterwards you shall have coffee and liqueurs.â
And they wrote of human merit and human unworthiness and broke hearts as if they were breaking eggshells.
Falk felt an indescribable longing for fresh air; he opened the window which looked on the yard; it was dark and narrow like a tomb; all he could see was a small square of the sky if he bent his head far back. He fancied that he was sitting in his grave, breathing brandy fumes and kitchen smells, eating the funeral repast at the burial of his youth, his principles and his honour. He smelt the elder-blossoms which stood on the table, but they reeked of decay; once more he looked out of the window eager to find an object which would not inspire him with loathing; but there was nothing but a newly tarred dustbinâ âstanding like a coffinâ âwith its contents of cast-off finery and broken litter. His thoughts climbed up the fire-escape which seemed to lead from dirt, stench, and shame right up into the blue sky; but no angels were ascending and descending, and no love was watching from aboveâ âthere was nothing but the empty, blue void.
Falk took his pen and began to shade the letters of the headline âTheatre,â when a strong hand clutched his arm and a firm voice said:
âCome along, I want to speak to you!â
He looked up, taken back and ashamed. Borg stood beside him, apparently determined not to let him go.
âMay I introduce.â ââ âŠâ began Falk.
âNo, you may not,â interrupted Borg, âI donât want to know any drunken scribblers, come along.â
He drew Falk to the door.
âWhereâs your hat? Oh, here it is! Come along!â
They were in the street. Borg took his arm, led him to the nearest square, marched him into a shop and bought him a pair of canvas shoes. This done, he drew him across the lock to the harbour. A cutter lay there, fast to her moorings, but ready to go to sea; in the cutter sat young Levi reading a Latin grammar and munching a piece of bread and butter.
âThis,â said Borg, âis the cutter Urijah; itâs an ugly name, but she is a good boat and she is insured in the Triton. There sits her owner, the Hebrew lad Isaac, reading a Latin grammarâ âthe idiot wants to go to collegeâ âand from this moment you are engaged as his tutor for the summerâ âand now weâll be off for our summer residence at NĂ€mdö. All hands on board! No demur! Ready? Put off!â
XXVI CorrespondenceCandidate Borg to Journalist Struve
NĂ€mdö, June 18â â
Old scandalmonger!â âAs I am convinced that neither you nor Levin have paid off your instalments of the loan made by the Shoemakersâ Bank, I am sending you herewith a promissory note, so that you may raise a new loan from the Architectsâ Bank. If there is anything over after the instalments have been paid up, we will divide it equally amongst us. Please send me my share by steamer to Dalarö, where I will call for it.
I have now had Falk under treatment for a month, and I believe he is on the road to recovery.
You will remember that after Olleâs famous lecture he left us abruptly and, instead of making use of his brother and his brotherâs connections, went on the staff of the Workmanâs Flag, where he was ill-treated for fifty crowns a month. But the wind of freedom which blew there must have had a demoralizing effect on him, for he became morose and neglected his appearance. With the help of the girl Beda I kept my eye on him, and when I considered him ripe for a rupture with the communards, I went and fetched him away.
I found him in a low public-house called âThe Star,â in the company of two scandal writers with whom he was drinking brandyâ âI believe they were writing at the same time. He was in a melancholy condition, as you would say.
As you know, I regard mankind with calm indifference; men are to me geological preparations, minerals; some crystallize under one condition, others under another; it all depends on certain laws or circumstances which should leave us completely unmoved. I donât weep over the lime-spar, because it is not as hard as a rock-crystal.
Therefore I cannot regard Falkâs condition as melancholy; it was the outcome of his temperament (heart you would say) plus the circumstances which his temperament had created.
But he was certainly âdownâ when I found him. I took him on board our cutter and he remained passive. But just as we had pushed off, he turned round and saw Beda standing on the shore, beckoning to him; I canât think how she got there. On seeing her, our man went clear out of his mind. Put me ashore! he screamed, threatening to jump overboard. I seized him by the arms, pushed him into the cabin and locked the door.
As we passed Vaxholm, I posted two letters; one to the editor of the Workmanâs Flag, begging him to excuse Falkâs absence, and the other to his landlady, asking her to send him his clothes.
In the meantime he
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